The next morning I navigate the bus system deep into the Park in hopes of reaching the trailhead to Angel’s Landing. It’s one of those hikes Zion is famous for, I’ve read all about it, and it sounds like it’ll be quite an experience. In route I chat with other passengers and when I mention my destination I’m met with there obligatory story of “did ya hear what happened last week?” Evidently a woman hiked part of the way up and then just froze. She refused to move either way, and this particular part of the trail is oriented in such a way that the stuck woman’s presence was preventing any other hikers from safely getting by. No one else could go up, and no else could come down, until she moved; but she was paralyzed with fear. Eventually, a ranger was notified and made his way up the trail to aid this woman in her decent. When he finally reaches her, he speaks in soothing tones trying to coax her down the trail. It doesn’t work, she can’t move. The ranger inches closer to her sliding an arm around her shoulders and places his hand on hers. When he scoops up her hand into his, she panics. Arms flailing, squirming in the ranger grasp, until it’s too much and they misstep. In each others arms, these two strangers plummet hundreds of feet down the cliff side and into the canyon. Neither survived……. “That’s a hell of a story to tell me on the bus ride TO that fuckin' trail!” I yell, shaking my head.
I’m still shaking off the cobwebs of that story as I hop off the bus and onto the trailhead for Angel’s Landing, where I end up doing 5 miles of the most intense hiking I've done yet. And that woman from the story on the bus? Well, her fears seem more and more reasonable the further I go up the path. First it's 21 switchbacks up…..always up.
When I finally reach the top and the trail widens into a relatively flat plateau where people are milling about taking pictures and what not. Sitting just off to my left is a pair of college girls, the Asian one is looking panicked and out of breath while her friend sits next the her with a comforting arm draped around her neck. They look up as I walk passed and I stab a thumb back in the direction of the trail, “Damn, that’s a crazy fuckin climb huh?”
The Asian girl looks at me with red ringed eyes, “I cried the whole way up…” she says. I giggle a little and say “But ya made it!” and head towards the highest point on this mesa in the sky. The views, along with the feeling of actually being here, are well worth any traumas the route up may have caused. Three hundred and sixty degrees. All the way around. I’m in awe everywhere I look. I can see all the way to the mouth of the canyon and the entrance to the park. Below a shag carpet of green follows the river along the canyon floor. The other direction, deeper into the canyon is more untouched wilds until the river disappears around a bend.
It’s this feeling that I’m chasing. The feeling of ‘being’ that you get when you reach a place like this. There's a metaphor hiding there somewhere. The triumphant wave of adrenaline that comes after an arduous journey. A sense of accomplishment, and a view from the top. It’s what we’re all chasing really…..isn’t it? Maybe I’m wrong, but if feels damn good.
During my brief but memorable stay atop Angel’s Landing I chat with a lovely young couple, and during our hike down they mention they are next headed to The Narrows. I did that trail just the other day but since the rest of my day is plan-less I happily accept their invitation to join them.
On the bus, heading towards the Narrows I reach for my camera but it isn't there. Normally it hangs in an army green pouch slung across my chest like a purse, but the entire thing is no where on my person. A frantic search of my bus seat and the surrounding bus floor bears no fruit either. Then it hits me. I remember taking it off, hanging it on a fence post so I could remove and refill my camelback at one of the water stations. I specifically remember taking it off, but not putting it back on. To myself I think, well that's pretty stupid of me and I bid adieu with a hasty apology to my new found hiking buddies and hop off the bus to head back in the direction of my cameras last known whereabouts.
This spot in the park is know as the Grotto, and when arrive my camera is no where to be found. Not on the fence post near the water station where I left it, nor in the nearby ranger station's lost and found. As I board another bus, my self loathing is deepening and in a last ditch effort I dump my tale of woe on the bus driver who informs me that a camera fitting my description has just been turned in to the lost and found at the Visitors Center back near the entrance to the park. I’m once again elated on the ride there, and one again plummet back into the depths upon my arrival when it’s obvious that it's not my camera that was recently turned in.
The self loathing reaches a fever pitch as I turn in a ‘lost item’ form to the ranger at the lost and found. “Buck up, man,” he says to me, the dismay on my face is far from subtle. “We find 99% of lost items around here. I once had someone turn in a $4,000 camera they found on the bus. Could have easily made off with it themselves but they didn’t. People know cameras contain memories, I guess.”
It’s a nice thought, and a profound observation. “I’ll have to steal it”, I think to myself while considering all the now-lost memories in my lost camera. I thank the ranger as I leave, with no real expectations of ever seeing the thing again and the memory of how I came to have that particular camera in the first place.
It was a gift from my old man, the first model was, for a birthday or some such event. It was sleek, shiny, digital, and water proof. I was beyond content, and it served it’s function admirably until a trip to Maui, where a dip into the tide pools did it in, despite the advertising of it’s “waterproof” feature. I remember feeling terrible for breaking the damn thing, it being a gift from my Dad and all. And being the stand up guy that he is, my dad weaseled his way into a free replacement from the manufacturer. And not only that but a higher end version of the broken one…..next years model…as they say. This new one, looks indestructible. Made of thick durable plastic and padded rubber printed with the words “waterproof”, “impactproof”, “adventure proof.”
Back on the bus, I come out of my daydream thinking, “yeah, but not Skala-proof. I can’t break it…..but I can loose it.” I take the bus back to the park entrance hating myself even more than usual.
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